


The Break

by Lokidfault



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bipolar Disorder, Mentions of Death, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9673208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokidfault/pseuds/Lokidfault
Summary: Kiran is dealing with a lot of stress and has a break down. The boys return to her mess. I'm not great at writing summaries. Rate and Review. Tell me if it sucks please.And I don't own Sam and Dean or Supernatural.





	

Kiran is sitting on her bed, staring at a book but really not seeing it. She had been having a rough time lately, learning her best friend from before the hunting life has recently died. She was really struggling, but of course she wouldn’t tell Sam and Dean that; no chick flick moments. She places the book on her lap just as a soft knock comes from her door. 

“Yeah, come in”, she says. 

“Hey”, Dean’s gruff voice says. “Pack a bag and get ready to go, we just found a case a few towns over. Simple salt and burn, let’s go.” Dean says starting to walk out the door. 

“Simple salt and burn?”, Kiran asks softly. Dean nods. “Do you really need me to come?”

“I mean; you can stay here if you want. I just figured you would want to come, you love hunting.” Dean states. 

“I’ll take this one off if that’s alright. Long night, ya know?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean says making a face. “We’ll be back around this time tomorrow then.”

“See ya”, Kiran says softly. 

She sits on her bed for a few more minutes until she hears the gentle purr of the Impala fade into the distance. She waits a few more minutes, then walks over to her dresser and pulls out her journal. She takes out the newspaper clipping from the inside, and makes her way to the kitchen. She pulls a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet and toasts to her friend’s obituary in the newspaper, and takes a huge gulp of whiskey. 

“To the best friend in the world, I’ll remember you forever”, she says quietly. 

Kiran slowly makes her way over to the couch with the bottle of whiskey, and plops down in front of the TV. She doesn’t have the energy to lean over and get the remote, so she sits in the silence, drinking the bottle away. 

A few hours later, she finishes off the bottle. She feels a sudden surge of anger and screams, throwing the empty bottle at the wall. The bottle shatters with a satisfying crash which only increases her deadly mix of drunk anger and adrenaline. She gets up and flips over the chair next to the couch, but not satisfied, she kicks the coffee table, her boots making a dent in the soft wood, the coasters and empty glasses falling to the floor. 

Wiped out, she collapses back on the couch and stares at the ceiling. She thinks about her manic episode and thinks about starting her medication again. But she wills against it. Those stupid drugs don’t help; they make it so she can’t feel anything. So really, what’s worse, the worsening manic and depressive episodes, or not feeling anything? Kiran wills her mind to shut up, shut up, shut up. 

After about half an hour of trying, but failing to fall asleep, she gets up and makes her way back to her bedroom. She opens her bedside table and grabs her Ambien and her pocket knife. She walks back to the kitchen and grabs a half empty bottle of Tennessee Fire, migrating back to the couch. 

She sits down looking at the clock, 4 am. The boys left around 6 pm the day before, so she should have another 14 hours at least. She pops three Ambien into her mouth, willing them to actually work for once. She downs the pills with a mouthful of alcohol, placing the open bottle next to her foot. 

Next, she grabs the knife, flipping it open with a satisfying click. She places in against her arm by her elbow and slowly digs the blade in. The satisfying burn encourages her and she rips the blade across her arm. She continues this several times on both arms until her arms are bloody and swollen around the cuts. She laughs manically at the beautiful feeling of the endorphins released by her little episode. 

She picks up the bottle and pours it on both of her arms to “clean” the wounds. She enjoys the deep burn. The bottle travels to her lips and she chugs the last quarter of the bottle. Still holding the empty bottle, she lays down on the couch staring at the ceiling. She set an alarm on her phone for 8 am and placed the phone in her pocket. She knew she would need to clean up this mess before the boys got home. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Kiran woke up to someone shaking her shoulder. She blinked rapidly looking up at Sam. 

“What the fresh hell is this?!” Dean yells. 

Kiran looked at her phone and groaned. It read 1 pm. Her alarm never went off! She reached up and rubbed her head, which was an even bigger mistake. 

Sam grabbed her wrist, holding her forearm up to the light. 

“Kiran?” he said softly, “What is this?”

“Oh, hell no”, Dean said, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the kitchen, and sitting her at the table. “Talk. Now.” He growled. 

Kiran shrugged as Sam sat down next to her. “What would you like me to say?” She said without emotion. 

“Are you fuc-” Dean started, but Sam interrupted him. “Why don’t you start by telling us why you did this to yourself?” he asked. 

Kiran stared at him for a minute before chuckling and saying, “No chick flick moments, remember?”

“Yeah, that only works when you’re not slicing your arms open and destroying the furniture,” Dean says, a scowl on his face. 

“Kiran? Can I clean your arms?” Sam asks softly, as if talking to a wounded animal. 

She slowly pulls one arm away from her body and reaches it out towards Sam. 

“What’s this sticky stuff—Is this alcohol?” Sam says disbelievingly. 

“Probably” Kiran says. 

“For the love of- what the hell were you thinking, Kiran?!” Dean says angrily. 

Kiran, sick of Dean’s yelling and anger shouts back, “What was I thinking? What was I thinking? I was thinking that I was stressed and tired, my friend just died and I’ve barely slept for a week and my mind just kept racing and I couldn’t think or breathe and I was drinking to calm down, but it just triggered a manic state and I flipped out and destroyed stuff, which by the way, I don’t even remember doing, and I cope better with pain so sorry my bipolar and self destructive tendencies are ruining your day!” Kiran yanked her arm back from Sam and ran from the table before either of the boys could stop her. 

She bolted to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door as the boys stayed stunned for a second before running after her. They pulled on the handle in vain, before giving up and trying to pick the lock. The sight before them when they entered the bathroom made them want to cry. 

Kiran was curled up in the bathtub pulling on her hair with tears streaming down her face. Her pocket knife was stabbed into the wall. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I’m not strong enough” she whispered. 

“Shhhhh, it’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay. We’re here for you, we’ll always be here”, Sam said. Dean picked Kiran up, and brought her back to the couch where Sam joined them and Dean whispered soothing words while Sam cleaned her wounds until Kiran fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you disagree with my portrayal of bipolar disorder, and want to message me, go for it. But I do know what I'm talking about. 
> 
> Rate and Review. Tell me if it sucks.


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